Words From The Heart
by Cat5
Summary: I've put all three 'Secret letters' fictions together for easy access. For those of you who've never read them, they are three fairly romantic stories about Rick and Evy letter writing.
1. Secret Letter

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me

A few weeks after I post this I'll be going off to University, and I don't think I'll be writing anything else for a time. Therefore this "Secret Letters" trilogy will probably be the last fan-fiction I've written, if not for ever, then at least for a while (unless creative inspiration strikes over the few weeks before Uni), and I'd like everyone who reads it to consider it my 'swan song'. Hope you like each section, as I think they're the best pieces of the few I've written.

Evelyn O'Connell wandered aimlessly around her huge house. It had been only a few months since they'd come back from Egypt, a little longer since they'd started events at Hamunaptra, which had led to the awakening of a three thousand year old mummy, and, more importantly, resulted in the marriage between her and Rick O'Connell.

She supposed that, due to the very large amount of money they now had from the treasure they'd unwittingly brought back, the marriage between her and Rick could have been a large, lavish affair. But that hadn't been what she'd wanted. Her childhood dreams had never been of white weddings and huge dresses. Instead they'd been of exploring Egypt, making amazing discoveries. Until her trip to Hamunaptra, she'd thought that it wouldn't ever be possible, that she was fated to spend her life, growing old, as a spinster, in the Museum of Antiquities.

Now, all that was different. She had an amazing, and very handsome, husband. The Museum in Cairo had been all but destroyed during Imohtep's brief reign, and she'd decided that she wanted to go back to England. Rick had agreed, but first they'd been married, in Egypt. It had been everything she'd hoped for. Short, simple and with the few people that she'd wanted to be there - Rick, her brother, a few friends from Cairo.

As a husband, Rick was surprisingly organised. Within days of returning to England, he'd gone house hunting. Not for him a little cottage in the country, or even a large town house. No, he wanted the best, and the largest. And he'd got it. She'd thought that, even with all the treasure and the slightly run down state of the place, it would be much too expensive. She was wrong about that. Rick had bought the place, then hired the best people, bullying them into doing exactly what he wanted, when he wanted, and for the price he wanted. He'd made deals, talked to the right people, and now the house was exactly how it was supposed to look - huge, imposing, and elegant. It had all been decorated inside as well. Rick had surprisingly good taste, although he'd made sure that Evy had the final say on anything she wanted. Now, it was all over and done with, and Evy was slightly overwhelmed with it all. It was everything she wanted, but she felt somehow… cheated. Which was stupid, because if she'd been in charge she'd have dithered for ages before finally getting herself organised, and the whole thing would probably have been a disaster. As it was, everything was perfect.

So why did she feel so downcast? The easy answer would be because Rick and Jonathon weren't there. Jonathon had taken quickly to the 'high life' of London, and he wanted to sell one of the pieces of treasure from the sack to fund what Evy suspected would be a marathon gambling session, and he'd asked Rick to go along with him because he had a knack for selling the treasure for the highest price possible.

So, maybe she was just feeling left out. It was more than that, though. She found that she was remembering their 'adventure' in Egypt with something approaching fondness, which was ridiculous because she'd almost been killed several times, as had Jonathon, Rick and that other man, from the Med-jai, and many people had been killed. The somewhat unnerving truth seemed to be that Evelyn Carn… no, Evelyn _O'Connell_ liked danger and excitement. For heaven's sake, she told herself, you're a librarian. Except she wasn't, now. She didn't have a job. Maybe that was part of the problem too. 

She came to a halt, realising that she was in the foyer of the house, staring at the door that led to Rick's 'study'. She had only rarely been in there, although Rick had made it quite clear that it was her house, and she could go anywhere without invitation. Old habits died hard, and her father, and especially her grandfather, had had their own private rooms, which women and children weren't allowed to enter, except by invitation. She'd explained this to Rick, and he'd laughed. Loudly. Then he'd scooped her up in his arms (which he could do with unnerving ease), kissed her, and told her that he loved the way she did that. What 'that' was, she still wasn't sure.

Anyway, the point was that she could easily enter the study. It was just that, while Rick wasn't there, entering it seemed doubly wrong. An invasion. 

Oh, don't be silly, she told herself, and threw open the door.

Rick had overseen the furnishing of the room, and you could tell. There were no little feminine touches, although there were curtains. There was a mixture of objects and pieces placed around the room from all over the world, and a bookshelf lining one wall. That always surprised her slightly - she was so used to seeing Rick as a man of adventure that she somehow seemed to forget he could read.

She wandered over to the desk. On it, there was a huge ledger which Evy knew Rick used to keep the accounts, and a picture of her in a frame. She smiled, recognising the shot. A few days before they'd left Egypt, she and Rick had had a camel race. And there she was, perched on top of the camel, hair blowing, silly smile on her face, turning to laugh at someone. She guessed that it must have been taken just after she'd won. She smiled, shaking her head. She'd lived in Egypt for several years before meeting Rick O'Connell, and she'd never thought of having a camel race, just for fun.

She took a few steps back, looking thoughtfully at the desk. She knew this was the real reason why she'd come here. In that desk was a secret compartment. She knew that the desk had been specially made to Rick's specifications, and she'd seen the blueprints, although Rick didn't know that. The thought of whether he actually used the compartment, and what he used it for, had nagged at her since she'd seen the prints, although, up till now, she'd managed to restrain her curiosity.

She shouldn't be doing this. Memories flashed through her mind, fragments of old stories about young wives opening the locked room, discovering their husband's terrible secrets. But, what terrible secrets could Rick have? She hesitated, then knelt down, looking into the well of the desk. She reached out, touching here, and here, and with barely a whisper, the secret compartment slid open.

It was basically a deep drawer, containing a few things. She stood up, then sat on the chair next to her, balancing the drawer on the desk. She uncertainly pulled out a piece of material, frowning curiously. As she unfolded the gauzy fabric, she could smell something faint. She wondered for a moment, then smiled as the memory returned. She could smell the scent she always associated with Egypt. She unfolded it completely, and smiled. It was the veil from the Bedouin outfit she'd bought after she'd lost all her clothes on the trip to Hamunaptra. She'd thought that she'd left it behind. She brushed her hand along the length of it, then carefully refolded it, placing it on the desktop.

There was another picture of her, one she didn't remember anyone taking. It was a simple one, just showing her, stood at what she recognised as the edge of Cairo city, looking out over the desert. She was looking thoughtful, no smile or laughter. Is this how he thinks of me? She wondered, stomach tightening slightly at the thought. Whenever she thought of her husband one of the first things that came to mind was his sense of humour, his laughter.

There were a few other things present - a white ribbon she'd worn in her hair on their wedding day, a small ceremonial knife that Evy recognised as Jonathon's, and one more thing - a piece of paper rolled into a tube, and fastened with a piece of string, the knot reminding her unpleasantly of a hangman's noose.

She reached out to pick it up, and hesitated, hand trembling slightly. This wasn't a little thing, like all the other objects were. She knew, instinctively, that this was more important. She began to pull her hand back, then another memory pushed its way into her mind. She remembered one night, only a few days after she'd returned from Hamunaptra. Rick had already proposed (he did so on the journey back) and so she'd decided that it was probably all right to be alone, at night, in a room with him, if they just talked. He'd been holding her hand, and she'd seen a leather bracer on his arm. Just the one arm. She'd begun to tug at it, laughingly, curiously, and he'd stopped her. Quickly. Powerfully. 

And she'd stopped laughing, and looked at him, slightly uneasy, not really afraid because she loved him and knew he loved her, but remembering how powerful Imotep had been when he'd dragged her away from the others in Cairo, how easily almost any man could overpower a woman. Rick must have seen the beginning of her unease because he'd quickly let go of her wrist, mumbling an apology. He'd turned away, and for a few seconds there'd been an uneasy silence. Then he turned back, and looked at her, concerned. "Evy, I'm sorry" he began again, and she'd shook her head, saying that it wasn't worth worrying about, but he'd cut her off, gently shushing her by placing a finger over her lips. Then he'd told her that what she was wondering about was the only secret that he'd ever keep from her. Anything else she could always know, or ask about, but she had to let him keep this one secret. She'd agreed, because she loved him, and, well, what else could she do? She knew now that there was a tattoo under the bracer - he didn't keep it on in bed, although there been a time when she thought he might - but she'd made a point of not looking at it. Because he'd asked her.

So, what was in the compartment wasn't a secret, really. So she could look at this, because she hadn't looked at his tattoo.

She pulled in a deep breath, and slipped the paper through the noose of the string, carefully unrolled it, and spread it on her lap. It was a single sheet, plain white paper, with a few lines of writing on it. It was Rick's writing - she recognised it easily - fairly large and bold, but the script was more delicate than usual, as if he'd taken a lot of care over the writing of it. She began to read.

'I remember the first time we kissed. You could say that it's burnt into my memory. You don't really forget a kiss like that, and the situation was pretty memorable as well.

Later, when we were well away, and safe, or so we thought at the time, you sat there, fragile and pretty, with your book, and your whimsical smile, and you asked me why I kissed you. There were so many things I could have replied to that.

I could have said that it was because you looked like an angel, stood there in the prison yard, untouched by everything around you. I could have said that it was because I was going to die soon, and I wanted one beautiful, perfect memory to counter all the terrible things I've seen in my life.

I could have said, because I fell in love with you instantly.

But I didn't. My tongue failed my heart, and I told you the only thing I felt able to say - using humour to hide my feelings. And you walked away. 

I'm never going to let you go again. You're mine, now, and that's where you going to stay. With me. Because you are an angel, a beautiful, perfect woman, and I fell in love with you the instant I saw you.

I kissed you because you were you.'

There the letter ended. Evy sat, silent, for a moment, staring at the writing. She half questioned if Rick had really written it, except, who could know these things, what had happened?

She wondered if she'd spoilt something, if Rick had been planning on finishing this, on giving it to her, someday. She realised why the string holding the letter was made like a noose - to remind him each time he looked at it where he first saw her.

Then, slowly, she realised that Rick hadn't been planning on giving it to her. That was why it was here, locked away. He wasn't going to give it to her, because he didn't say things like this. Maybe he never would be able to. But it was enough for her to know that even if he didn't say these things, he thought them.

Slowly, carefully, she repacked the drawer, placing everything where it had come from, then put the drawer back in its place. Then she stood up, and walked out of the study, closing the door quietly behind her. She didn't know if she'd ever tell Rick she'd read the letter, but she didn't know if it even mattered. The point was, he loved her because of who she was.


	2. Memories Of A Lifetime

"You left me"

"You left me"

Rick O'Connell's voice was accusing, filled with bitter grief and anger.

Evelyn O'Connell shook her head. "No," she protested, "I saved you."

He was stood before her, facing away. All she could see was his back. They were inside the pyramid of Am-shere.

"You ran away like a frightened child. And why not? Your life was obviously more important than mine."

"Rick!" she protested again, darting forwards and catching his arm. He spun around, throwing off her hand, and as his face was revealed, she screamed. Torn and bloody, his whole body was wounded and ripped, his handsome features unrecognisable. His ruined mouth twisted into a snarl. "What's the matter? Don't you love me anymore?" His voice was mocking, cruel.

Evy shook her head, trying to deny the reality of what she saw. "Rick?"

The figure swept out an arm, knocking her away, throwing her off her feet. She fell, and rolled over, beginning to tumble down into a crack in the ground. She lashed out, managing to catch the edge with one hand, but couldn't pull herself up. Glancing down, her heart twisted as she recognised where she was - dangling in the hole leading to hell. The one Imohtep fell into. The one she saved Rick from.

She looked up, and saw Rick standing above her. His features were perfect again, whole, unmarked. He smiled, shrugged, then turned and walked away. As her grip loosened, and Evelyn tumbled into hell, she screamed.

Evelyn woke, screaming. The room was pitch dark, the bedclothes suffocating and clinging. She battled frantically, trying to free herself. Finally she managed to release one arm, and reached out, switching on the bedside lamp. Only then did she stop screaming.

She turned, wanting to wake Rick, wanting to be held in his arms and reassured. He wasn't there. For a terrible moment, her heart leapt, then settled again as she realised where he was. A few weeks before the 'adventure' of Am-shere had begun, she, Rick and Alex had all booked tickets to go and see an exhibition about ancient Egypt, the visit date being set for a little over a week after the date they'd come back from Am-shere. The author of one of Alex's favourite books was going to be there, and so they'd agreed to take Alex.

Then, practically the minute after Evy set foot in England again, she'd come down with the flu. Sore throat, aching head, sneezing, coughing and sweating - the whole works. She was just about over it now, or at least in the last stages, but definitely not in a fit state to go traipsing around an exhibition on the other side of London. So Alex and Rick had gone, and Jonathon had accompanied them on Evy's now spare ticket. Which meant that she was home, alone. Rick had tried to protest, telling Alex that he, Rick would stay with 'Mum', and Jonathon would take him, but Evy had put her foot down. The boy had spent a week without either of his parents, and it wasn't fair to send him off with Jonathon. She had no doubts about letting him be alone with Jonathon - her brother was very capable when he had to be - but Evy had been determined that Alex would be with at least one parent. She'd also decided that Jonathon needed a little fun, so she'd insisted he go along as well. The trouble is, she thought, I organise everyone else's lives to the exclusion of my own.

She sighed, then stood up. She was wearing her oldest, comfiest pyjamas - no need to try and look attractive if Rick wasn't around to appreciate the effort. She slipped her feet into her slippers, then picked up the blanket from the bed, wrapped it around her, switched off the lamplight and blundered out of the room. She ambled downstairs and into the kitchen, then poured milk into a pan and began to heat it up. As it was heating she hoisted herself up onto the work surface, sitting there, swinging her feet until the milk boiled. Then she slid back off, rooted out a huge mug, and dumped what looked like too much chocolate powder in it. She moved back to the pan and reached out to pick it up. As she did, the blanket fell from her shoulders despite her attempts to catch it, which resulted in a fine spray of chocolate powder drifting over the floor. She supposed that she should have put the mug down first.

"Drat" she moaned, putting down the mug and trying to kick the blanket out from under her feet, then picking up the pan and pouring the milk into the mug. Then she had to go and get a spoon, which she'd forgotten, before finally managing to stir and finish making the drink. She sighed - she didn't usually feel sorry for herself - but she was feeling irritable today.

She picked the rug back up, then shuffled over to a cupboard on the other side of the room. Opening it, she reached up, pulling out several things until she came to the pack of chocolate biscuits behind them. Although you wouldn't think it, Rick was like a little boy where chocolate biscuits were concerned - she had to hide them so there were some left for her to eat.

Mug in one hand, biscuits in the other, she wandered into a small sitting room, and curled up on a sofa, only switching on a small lamp light. Outside the window, the rain fell steadily. I bet Nefertiri never got colds, Evy thought petulantly. Well, she wouldn't, would she, living in a country where rain was practically considered to be a gift from the gods? Not like England, where it rained every day of the week, and twice on Sundays.

She sighed, then scowled as she felt her nose begin to itch. She pulled out a handful of tissues just in time as she began to sneeze. One, two, three, four times in a row. Then she began to cough. She couldn't help it - there was an annoying tickle at the back of her throat. Once she'd stopped, she moaned again, and debated whether to throw something, just to ease her frustration. She'd only ever resorted to throwing things once before - shortly after Alex had been born. 

She supposed it had been post-natal depression, although it was more like post-natal incandescent rage, and when Alex had woken her crying for the fifth night in a row, and Rick had mildly suggested she do something about it, she'd shrieked and hurled the contents of her bed-side table at him, which had been, in order, a book, a statue, another book and a glass of water. He'd dodged the first three, caught the glass and been hit in the face by the stream of water. He'd then collapsed laughing on the floor. After she'd calmed down (Rick had seen to Alex, in the end) she'd also seen the funny side. She hadn't thrown anything since. And now it wouldn't any fun, if there was no one around to aim at.

She sighed, and sipped her hot chocolate again. She missed Rick. She wanted to talk to someone. She wanted to be reassured that he loved her, and that the events at Am-shere weren't her fault, in any way, shape or form.

She drank her drink, ate her biscuits, drummed her fingers, plumped the cushions, then finally stood up and stalked towards Rick's study, leaving the debris behind. She knew what she really wanted to do. The day before she'd walked into his study, and he'd made a sudden, guilty movement, hurrying away from his desk. She was certain that he'd put something new in his secret compartment, and she wanted to know what. She hadn't gone in the compartment for years, only the once, in fact, just after they'd married. Since then, she'd resisted the temptation.

Don't I deserve something nice? she asked herself. After all, I was the one who died, I was the one who rescued Rick. I'm the one with the lousy, stinking cold, stuck here while everyone else goes running around, looking at fabulous exhibitions. She knew she was whining. Well, maybe I deserve to whine, too.

Maybe he doesn't love me any more. The thought hit her like a thunder bolt. Maybe he's got a mistress, and he's hiding pictures of her in his room. A little voice in her head sighed. _Evelyn_, it said irritably, _it's half past two in the morning, and you're suffering from an excess of chocolate. Go back to bed, and stop being silly._

But,what if, she began to protest.

__

You're having an argument with a voice in your head, and you think you're in a state to think logically? The voice sounded annoyingly like Rick in one of his infuriatingly sensible moods. She scowled. She knew she wasn't being sensible - her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. How could anyone think sensibly when they had cotton wool instead of a brain? - but she really did want to see what was inside. After all, what harm ever came from looking? She distinctly heard the voice in her head groan at that point.

She determinedly threw open the study door. It was, more or less, the same as it had been the first time she'd done this. More books in the bookshelves, new statues around the room. She smiled as she saw the little statue of Ria, one of the lesser known goddesses of an ancient religion. Ria was the goddess of luck. Evy had given it to Rick for his birthday, because she privately thought that Rick had to be one of Ria's chosen. He had more luck than anyone she'd ever met.

She strode over to the desk, or at least tried to. The rug drooped from her shoulders, she stumbled, and ended up flying into the chair, which lurched backwards and hit the wall, tipping her off. She lay there, muttering irritably, then picked herself up. No injuries. She sighed, then carefully lowered herself onto the chair, moving it forwards so she was sat in front of the desk, although far enough away that she could see into the foot well, which was where the compartment was.

She began to debate internally. Should she open it?

__

Why bother with this? The little voice asked gloomily. _You know you're going to open it._

I might not. Evy was offended, then began to giggle. She was being ludicrous, arguing with herself.

She mentally pulled herself together, ignoring her aching head. She probably shouldn't open it. Rick never intended her to see these things, or he wouldn't have hidden them. She nodded. That was all very logical, but she was alone, and ill, and still frightened after her dream. I wish Rick was here with me. She sighed again, and opened the secret compartment.

The drawer was fuller now. It contained a lifetime of memories. Lying on top was a single sheet of folded paper. Her name was written on it. She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and picked it up. Unfolding it, she read the few words written on it.

'I know that you're going to open this compartment at some point, because otherwise you wouldn't be you. Feel free.

Rick'

She giggled softly. He really did know her that well. Heart lighter, she began to unpack the contents of the drawer.

The few objects she remembered from last time were still there - the veil from her Bedouin costume, her white wedding ribbon, a photograph of her, a small knife of Jonathon's, and a rolled up sheet of paper. She put these to one side.

Alex was also included in this little display of memories. There was a photograph of him, one she remembered well. It had been taken in Egypt, and showed Alex running towards the camera, waving something small he was holding. That had been on one of the first digs where he'd been old enough to appreciate what archaeology was about. He'd found a small statue of a god, Anubis, as a matter of fact, and he'd proudly run back to show them.

Another photograph showed her and Alex together. They were both in formal wear - Alex in a version of black tie, her in a long dress, and they were stood under the cherry tree in the garden. That had been Alex's first proper 'grown-up' party, the first time he'd worn formal clothes.

The next item she handled carefully. It was a small pyramid, made from matchsticks with the heads broken off. In a surprising display of initiative, Alex had covered it with glue and stuck sand onto the sides, to create the right effect, although some of it was flaking off now. He'd been fascinated by Egypt since he was little, although she wondered how much of that was due to her.

She recognised the next object. She'd suggested it, and helped Alex make it. They'd taken a piece of paper, placed it in the oven until it was brown, and burnt the edges of it, until Alex had decided that it 'looked properly like authentic ancient parchment'. Then he'd laboriously written a message to his Daddy, using Hieroglyphics. He could read them well, but he'd had a lot of problems writing in them. She remembered that they'd had to do it several times until he got it right. She laughed softly, shaking her head. The things she'd suggested, to keep her son happy and interested.

There was a dried flower amongst the objects. She thought it was a rose, although she couldn't be sure. He'd bought her roses many times since they'd been married; after their first fight; on one of her birthdays (he always gave her unusual, unique presents, and she thought that the roses had just been a spur of the moment addition to his other presents that year); on their tenth wedding anniversary, and just occasionally on impulse. He was a romantic, although he strenuously denied it. Still, the presence of the secret compartment, and its contents, seemed to confirm that he was.

The last item was a piece of paper, rolled up and tied with a black ribbon. She hesitated, remembering the last letter she'd opened, then shrugged, remembering Rick's note. If he hadn't wanted her to read it, he wouldn't have left it in there. She slipped the letter out of the ribbon, unrolled it, and began to read, aching head and stuffy nose completely forgotten.

'I can hardly bear to watch you sleep. That's what you're doing as I write this - lying in bed, covers pulled up to your nose, blissfully, soundly asleep. I find it hard to sleep at night - an old habit, I suppose. I've spent much of my life lying in strange places, wondering if someone is coming to kill me, and I learnt to sleep lightly, if at all. I doubt it's a habit that you ever developed. I hope you never need to. That's part of my job, I think - to make sure that you can sleep easily at night.

I watched you die. That's the reason I find it hard to watch you sleep - any time you aren't awake, moving, laughing, talking, I have to remember. I see you as you were, still, small, dead. It's not something I want to remember, but it isn't something I'll ever be able to forget.

Seeing you die made me realise something. I thought that my life was about my choices. That if something happened, I'd make a choice, and what resulted from that would be the consequence of my action. 'I am in control of my life.' Then you were stabbed, and I realised that: I hadn't made this choice. My life had changed, and it had been changed by someone else. Whatever choice I made then, it couldn't alter what happened to you. 

And then you were alive, and that hadn't been because of me, either. Was what I did wrong? Should I have stayed with Jonathon and Alex, and you, rather than chase after Imohtep? I like to think I fought him for justice, rather than revenge. That's something you've taught me, over the years. Motives are important. You've done the impossible - changed Rick O'Connell. Who'd have thought I'd have a wife, let alone a son? I always thought I'd die in jail, until I met you. Shows how well I knew myself, though.

Fate. 

Ardeth said that you and I were fated to be together. I don't believe that. Never have, never will. Maybe you were Nefertiri, once, and I'm some sort of 'mystical chosen one', but, here and now, we are who we are, and we've worked hard at life to be together. Our relationship didn't just happen. I lost you before I even had you, I fought for you, and you fought for me. We battled for what we had, and the outcome wasn't pre-ordained, wasn't destiny. I could have lost you forever. You can't tell me that was destiny.

I don't believe in fate.

I do believe in love.

I believe in you.'

She looked away from the letter, and smiled. Carefully, she rolled it up and slipped it back in the black ribbon. Then she replaced each item in the drawer, exactly in the order and position she'd pulled them out. She picked up the drawer and slid it back under the desk, replacing it.

She stood up, tugging the rug back on her shoulders, and pushed the chair back to where it had been. She walked to the door, and switched off the light as she left. Outside the window, thunder rolled, and shortly after lightning lit the world. She smiled, then wandered up the stairs and into bed. Lying there, safe and warm, listening to the wild night, Evelyn O'Connell thought about her husband, and her dream. Whatever else, she knew that he trusted her. She didn't think she'd have that dream again.

She wondered if she'd let Rick know she'd opened the drawer, when he came back. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. Sooner or later, she'd make her choice.


	3. One For The Memory Box

A little over a month after 'The Mummy Returns

A little over a month after 'The Mummy Returns

As Evy slammed the front door behind her, Rick O'Connell winced. Who'd have thought that such a slender woman could do something with so much force? He stared at the door in irritation. He knew how this was supposed to go now - he was supposed to run out after her, and tell her that he was sorry. Well, he was sick of doing that. Every time they fought, which was now practically every day, he ended up apologising. She hadn't done so even once. Still, she'd never actually stormed out of the house before, either. She usually just went to a different room. Her bedroom, quite often, as they'd taken to sleeping in separate rooms.

He scowled, then turned and headed towards the kitchen. He wasn't going to fawn after her this time. Oh no. Rick O'Connell was sick of being the one in the wrong. This time, he'd wait for her. He filled up the kettle and began to make himself a cup of coffee. No tea for him. That was for the namby-pamby British people who couldn't stomach real, good coffee. People like Evelyn, and her brother, Jonathon.

He poured water on the coffee - no milk or sugar, he liked his drinks strong - then began to search the kitchen. Evy always hid the chocolate biscuits. That was only a very minor irritation, in the scale of things, but it still annoyed him. He finally found them, hidden behind a box of soap powder for Godsake. He swept up the packet and his drink, and stormed out of the kitchen, fuming.

He headed for a sofa in the living room. He couldn't be bothered moving around a chair stood in the middle of the room, so he tried to kick it out of the way. The chair was a lot heavier than he'd thought, and he just ended up bruising his foot. He glared at the chair, then kicked it again, harder. This time the chair flew across the room and slammed into the wall, then shattered into so much expensive firewood. "Damn" he swore viciously, then stamped over to the sofa. He slammed the coffee down on to the table next to it, hard enough that the liquid slopped over the edge, burning his hand. He bellowed another curse, then flopped to the seat, sucking his hand.

He opened the packet and began to crunch moodily. Where had everything gone wrong? He knew exactly where, and he was fairly sure he knew why. For about a week after they'd come back from Am-shere, everything had been fine. He and Evy had been even closer than usual, and Jonathon and Alex were both being good for once. Then he'd noticed that Evy was more irritable than usual, complaining about little things. He hadn't minded at first, assuming that she was still in shock after dying at Am-shere. Then she'd grown slowly more possessive - every time he went out, she'd demand all the details afterwards - where he'd gone, what he'd done, who he'd been with. It had become more and more wearing, although he'd tried to humour her for her own sake. Then he noticed that she often acted differently. Not all the time, but definitely some of the time. It was as if she was two people. That began to frighten him. He'd married Evy, not Nefertiri, or whoever she was supposed to be. 

It seemed like she was worried about losing him, but what she was doing definitely wasn't helping to keep them together.

Then Alex had gone back to boarding school, and things had really begun to go downhill. Jonathon didn't come to their house anymore, because the place had become a constant battleground. And Rick was always the one who apologised afterwards.

He looked down, and realised that he'd been holding a biscuit in his hand, grinding it in his frustration and covering his hand in a mess of crumbs and melted chocolate. "Bugger" he muttered, then froze in shock. Bugger? He sounded like some kind of English fop, like Jonathon, to be precise. That whole family was nothing but a nuisance. He began to rise up to fetch a cloth, then shrugged, sank back down again and licked his hand off. 

He drank his coffee, still staring moodily out of the window. Dammit. He supposed he really should have gone after her. I just want everything back to normal, he thought sadly. He did love Evy, but he couldn't even talk to her nowadays. He sighed, then wandered back into the kitchen, washing up the mug and throwing away the now empty packet. He wasn't sure what to do now.

An old piece of advice Jonathon had once offered him floated across his mind. 'When you have a problem, get drunk. You'll forget for a few hours, you'll do lots of exciting and interesting things, and then you'll wake up with a whole new set of problems which make your original ones seem unimportant.'

How long had it been since he'd been drunk? Oh yeah, a little after they'd come back from Egypt, and he'd still been trying to get used to the whole 'husband = responsibilities' bit. A couple of old acquaintances had turned up in London, and it had been Jonathon's birthday, and they'd gone on a marathon drinking session. Afterwards, Evy had been upset. Not angry, which he could have coped with, but upset. Eyes shining with unshed tears, bravely assuring him that of course she didn't mind if he disappeared for two days, and returned with her brother with all his hair shaved off in tow. Rick still didn't know why Jonathon had had all his hair shaved off, or where he'd had it done, for that matter. Still, it had all grown back, which reassured Jonathon that he wasn't going to go bald any time soon. He'd been rather happy about that. 

So after that he hadn't got drunk anymore. Oh, he still drank, but he didn't get drunk. There was a definite difference. He shrugged. Evy wasn't here to complain. He marched over to the drinks cabinet, and pulled out the first bottle.

Around two a.m, Rick staggered into his study, and after a couple of false starts, managed to pull out his memory drawer. He'd put two more things in it after returning from Am-shere, the letter he'd written, and a photograph of Jonathon and Alex together. Jonathon had been 'entertaining' Alex in the garden, i.e. playing with him, while Rick and Evy had been in the house. Rick had happened to glance out of the window in time to see Alex and Jonathon drag themselves out of the pond. He didn't know how they'd fallen into it - it was big enough that you couldn't stumble into by accident. He'd grabbed his camera, and taken a picture. Alex had been laughing, and Jonathon had an expression on his face that had been a mixture of a scowl and a smile. It was a good photograph. There hadn't been anything since then worth putting in, as Alex was away, and Rick didn't want to remember the past month with Evy.

Now, he wanted to remember the good times. He focused on the box, and pulled in a surprised breath. On top of the pile was an envelope, with his name written on it. He picked it up, and he could smell the scent coming from it. Evy's scent. He didn't know what perfume she used, and asking her or finding out would spoil some of the mystery. He remembered a lesson he'd heard when he'd been much younger, around nineteen. 'Women have to have a few mysteries. Not so much to keep men interested as to reassure themselves that they are still interesting.' He smiled fondly, remembering the woman who'd taught him that.

He felt his eyes filling up with tears at the thought of Evy writing the letter to him - when had she put it there? - and groaned to himself. He was maudlin drunk. God, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been like this. He hadn't even drunk that much, had he? He pulled in a few deep breaths, and focused, trying to clear his head.

The envelope wasn't sealed, and he carefully slipped the letter out, and unfolded it. Evy's delicate script met his eyes.

'I know you can't sleep at night. I've known since we were married. Sometimes, I'd lie awake at night, my eyes closed, but knowing that you were there, watching me, keeping me safe.

When she's younger, I think that every girl dreams of a man they'll meet someday, who'll sweep them off their feet and rescue them from their life. Then one day they have to loose the dream, exchange it for reality. I had to. 

Then you appeared in my life.

You made the dream become reality.

For a long time I've known that you'll be there for me. When we'd first met, and Imohtep carried me off to Hamunaptra, I knew you'd come after me, and not just because I threatened to come after you if you didn't. The truth is, I trust you. And you've shown, time and again, that I can trust you.

You say that I've changed you, but you've changed me as well. You gave me confidence, convinced me that my place in the world was whatever I wanted it to be. You taught me how to become what I wanted, and I hope that you still love what I have become as much as you loved who I was. The world changes, we change, nothing stays the same. All we can ever hope for is that we change for the better. I love you, whatever you are, and whatever you become.

I find that writing this isn't as easy as I thought. I know what I feel, and what I think, but sometimes, it's hard to put down in words. And so it astonishes me that your letters were so eloquent. Every time I think I know you, I learn something new.

I know I've said everything in this letter to you before - it's a lot easier to say it out loud - but I wanted to write them down as well. Words change, and fade in the memory, but this letter will last our lifetime.

Whatever happens, whatever we become, I want you to _remember_.'

Hands shaking, he folded the letter back up, and slipped it into the envelope. Then he placed it back in the drawer, and tried to stand up and lift it. But it was too heavy, and he sagged back down and his head sank onto the desk. Slowly, sleep claimed him.

He was woken by the sunlight streaming through the open window. He struggled upright, looking around for the clock. What time was it? Finally, he remembered he was wearing a watch, and looked down. It was quarter past twelve. He groaned, then pulled himself carefully upright. He picked up the drawer, smiling slightly at the sight of Evy's letter, and manoeuvred it back into the desk. Then he left the room. He stopped at the sight of all the bottles piled in the living room. He'd drunk that much? He was feeling surprisingly well in that case.

He cleaned up as best he could, then crept upstairs to Evy's room. He gently pushed open the door… to find that she wasn't there. The bed was made, or unslept in. Fine, he thought. So, she came home, then went off to work. He bounded downstairs, swinging by the kitchen to make some coffee and swallow some pain-killers, then telephoned the museum where Evy worked. He was informed that Evelyn O'Connell was not in today, and had taken the week off. He put the phone down numbly. Where was she?

After a moment's internal argument, he picked up the phone again and dialled a new number.

"I need to speak to MacDowney.

"Just tell him it's O'Connell. Do it now.

"Mac. I need a favour. I want you to find out where my wife's gone.

"No, it's not a joke.

"I think it'll cost me just about what you owe me.

"Right. I'll be waiting. Do it quickly."

He slammed the phone down, and went upstairs for a shower. Hours later, showered, shaved, dressed and frantic, he had a return telephone call.

"Yeah, yeah, of course I appreciate it. Yes, we are even now. You don't owe me a thing.

"Yes, I do realise… Oh, for Godsake, tell me where she is.

"She was seen at the airport? (He felt a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach)

"Tell me" he said slowly, "Has she gone to Egypt?"

Seconds later, he ran out of the front door.

Flames roared, people laughed and shouted and sang, and everyone was dancing. Evelyn O'Connell sat on a broken stone wall, drinking from a cup and tapping her feet aimlessly in time to the music. She'd flown to Egypt and gone hunting for Ardeth Bey on a whim, arriving in time to be brought back to the Med-jai's main camp to enjoy 'The Festival'. What the Festival was, and what the Med-jai were celebrating, Evy didn't know, and everyone was having too good a time to explain it to her. Considering the only times she'd seen the Med-jai they'd been trying to kill someone, this was very disconcerting.

"Would you like to dance?"

Evy looked up with a startled laugh into the face of Ardeth Bey.

"You dance?"

Ardeth laughed. "Usually, no. Today, yes. The Festival does not happen often."

"Umm…" Evy hesitated. This was even more disconcerting. She'd seen Ardeth looking amused occasionally, most notably after his 'first bus ride', but the humour always had an edge to it, an underlying fear born of the knowledge that somewhere the Creature was loose. Now, he just looked like he was having a good time. Sweating, smiling, and dark eyes laughing, he'd removed the over layers of Med-jai robes.

Evy smiled, and took his outstretched hand. "Why not?"

They threaded their way into the centre of the camp, where huge fires burnt and people danced to the sound of the music played by the musicians at one edge of the circle.

"I don't know this one" Evy protested, shouting over the noise. Ardeth shrugged., and laughingly swept her into the dance. Half way through he spun her briefly, and she found herself relaxing into his arms for a second. He was strong but graceful, and for a moment she allowed herself to enjoy dancing with a man. But it only lasted a moment, because Ardeth was a friend, and he wasn't Rick. She found her eyes blurring with tears, but as Ardeth began to speak in concern, she shrugged, and continued with the dance.

Afterwards, many men wanted to dance with the 'beautiful stranger', and Evy accepted each invitation. But every man dancing with her knew that they were not the man she could see in her mind.

During a brief lull she managed to slip away, and secured herself another drink. She didn't know what it was - something sweet and smooth as honey. She drained it, then sagged back against the wall. She wished she were at home, with Rick.

She looked up, and there he was, walking through the smoky night to stand before her. She gasped, dropping her cup in surprise. Cat-quick, he reached out and caught it, smoothly placing it on the wall next to her. They were so close she could feel his breath. "How?" she stammered.

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Izzy" he replied laconically.

She felt her exhilaration being swept away by remembered anger. "You shouldn't…" She broke off as he leant forwards and kissed her. Finally, they broke apart, and he gave her another sweet smile.

"I'm sorry."

"You are?" Her hands were trembling.

He laughed softly. "Evelyn, I didn't follow you all the way to Egypt to continue our argument."

"You didn't? Oh, I mean, that's good. And, I'm sorry too."

He grinned again. "That's good."

As she giggled like a young girl, Rick bowed flamboyantly and extended his hand. "Would you care to dance?" 

She took his hand, and they threaded their way through the crowds. As they headed towards the circle of dancers, Rick bellowed over the noise "Why's everyone so happy? I thought the Med-jai had a sacred duty to be miserable." Evy shrugged. She didn't know, and at the moment, she didn't care.

She woke, staring around for a second at the cloth walls before remembering where she was - in a tent Ardeth had loaned her, inside the Med-jai camp. She rolled over, and saw Rick staring at a chain of flowers draped over his palm. She remembered it as one that had been twined in her hair at some point during the night. He looked over and smiled tentatively at her, and she smiled happily back. 

"One for the memory box?" 


End file.
